Of Smoke and Shadows
by Cagliari
Summary: Jareth appeared in Sarah's life one year ago, and tonight is the last night of their deal. JxS Oneshot


**I was on the 2000 mile drive from Colorado to Ohio when I got struck with this little scenario. It took about six days to write and edit, and I still don't like it very much, but I wanted to upload it here anyways because eight thousand words was no easy feat.**

* * *

One of his thumbs purposely presses into the arch of her feet. She gives him a mock glare through narrowed green eyes; he knows that she is ticklish there.

"I'm an expert at kickboxing. You should _try_ to get along with me."

He rocks back onto his heels from his kneeled position at the edge of her bed. He knows her very well, well enough to know where she is ticklish, but is always cautious at times like this, where he doesn't know if he should take her seriously or not. She decides to rescue him by giving him a light wink and an amused smile.

"You know I'm kidding. If I had ever even mentioned kickboxing, you would have seen it in one of those crystals you used to stalk me with."

An annoyed frown crosses his face and he rests his hands on her feet once more, albeit squeezing them with a little more pressure than before. "I did not stalk. I merely observed."

"Yeah, I'm sure." She gives a good-humored eye-roll. His hands creep up to her ankles, fingertips brushing deftly over the smooth skin there. Heat rises up her cheeks, and she watches him through half-closed eyes.

"You don't seem too riled by the idea," he murmurs quietly, his hands ghosting higher up her leg. He isn't wearing his gloves. He never does, not on nights like these when it is just them and a need that can't be satisfied when there is a layer of clothing between their skin. His palms are warm and smooth as they touch her everywhere they can reach. He pays special attention to the little Sarah-ish things that he has already committed to memory, such as the birthmark on the back of her knee, and the scars in her left shin where she had tripped and fell as a little girl. "I think you secretly enjoyed it."

"Ah, because all girls love to be watched every waking minute of the day."

"Not every waking minute," he defends himself, but a roguish smile is slowly unfurling across his face. "Once I got the general idea of when you showered or got undressed-"

Her foot shoots out and catches him in the shoulder. He falls back onto the floor in that minute of weakness, and because she is so much like him, always ready to take the upper hand, she slides out of bed faster than any human girl should ever have been able to move and is straddling his waist before he can even make an effort to stand. He reaches around her and locks his arms about her waist. He is a man that does not like being controlled, but for the moment, he is content to humor her and allow her to do to him what she will.

She touches his face, running her thumbs along his high, defined cheekbones, allowing her other fingers to trail slowly down from his temple to his chin. Her index finger traces the bridge of his nose before branching off to dance lightly over his eyelids as he closes his eyes and breathes her name. The sound sends shivers down her spine, and her own eyes drift shut, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders. At her lapse in attention, he takes control of the situation and rolls them both over. She is on the floor now, and his body rests comfortably, naturally, between her legs. He leans forward on his elbows so as to not suffocate her with his weight, his face mere inches from hers, wisps of his moon-spun hair brushing against her skin.

And she doesn't mind this shift in power; she appeases his need to be the one in control, for she knows that eventually, she will get her chance to even the odds. Besides, it is rather hard to think logically when your lover's breath is warm on your neck and his hands even hotter on your flesh.

_Lovers…_

She wonders when that term became their title. After all, it hadn't been all that long ago when he still fell under the heading "sort-of enemies". Not even a year, in fact. But so much has changed since then. So much is still changing, and much more probably will in the future, too. Such is the nature of their rather hectic relationship. But where had it all began?

* * *

_She was finally twenty-one. She was now legal to drink in the United States, and she'd be damned if she didn't take that opportunity. It had been five years since that night. She'd be lying if she didn't think of the King often, his odd eyes, fly-away hair, and ridiculous fashion sense. What a glam star. But he was what she thought about whenever she was alone at night, nothing at all to keep her company._

_He was what she thought about all through her college days, when she would have brief, desperate flings with boys who she should have never spared a second glance. It was his name she chanted over and over again in her mind when those silly boys kissed her, or tried to take her to bed. On occasions such as those, she would just smile shyly and say she had to go. She had no intentions of soiling herself at the filthy paws of some drunkard college frat boy. But then, what exactly had she been waiting for?_

_A miracle, perhaps. She sits at her tiny kitchen table in her tiny little apartment, sipping at a new bottle of wine which is already half-empty, and the night has only just begun. Loneliness is taking its toll. It is not the kind that her family or friends can satisfy. It is the loneliness that comes about when one realizes that they don't have anyone to share their life with. And probably never will. She can think of one person she would willingly tie herself to, but she gave him up in exchange for a little brother._

_She didn't regret it, though some would question that due to the fact that she is drowning herself in drinks. She would do it all again and fight just as hard as she had if it meant the safety of her brother. But she wanted a happy ending for the King, too. The King who had played his role so nicely and willingly for her, only to be shattered into a thousand pieces like an unwanted picture in a frame. The King who had antagonized her and frightened had also managed to wrest her heart away, though she didn't realize it at first. Only when she started sifting through potential boyfriends did she realize she was comparing them to the Goblin King. And no one could ever live up to that sort of competition. Too bad she would never see him again._

_As she takes another deep swig of her wine, she finds herself wishing that he was with her._

_And suddenly, he is._

* * *

His deft hands are stroking the insides of her thighs now, having moved past the hem of her nightgown, which is now somehow bunched around her waist. Though he loves the sight of her body quivering at his slightest touch, it is something that he sees every night. Tonight, he looks into her deep green eyes as he touches her, watching as her head tips back, baring her throat to him. He leans forward automatically and laves kisses on the exposed skin, mentally stowing away ever hitch in her breathing and every skipped beat of her heart.

Impatient fingers are itching to do away with the hindrance that her panties cause, and she lifts her hips slightly off the ground to assist him in removing them. They slide down her legs easily enough, and he tosses them in some unknown corner of the room to be discovered the next morning. His hands slide up higher to delve into her soft curls, much to her delight if her soft cries are anything to go by.

As he strokes her slowly, watching that pretty blush creep down her neck, he can't help but wonder how they both managed to make it to this point alive: one of them should have throttled the other by now. But here they are, in the most unlikely position imaginable, her eyes glazed and her breath coming in short gasps, all because of what he is doing to her. And he knows with the right amount of pressure, he could make her scream.

He also knows that if this continues on the floor, he will wake up the next morning to an earful of complaining. And though Sarah is easy enough to quiet with a well-placed kiss, he would prefer to avoid such a situation altogether. And so he lifts her effortlessly, sighing when her arms automatically wind around his shoulders, and places her on her back in her bed. As he follows her down, he revels in the feeling of the soft, cool sheets that shift under his hands, and echoes of that fateful night rise up to meet him.

* * *

_He loved her, but he could not wait for her. And so he picked his queen from the throng of desperate females, making a great effort to choose the one who seemed the most…disillusioned with him. He could not have a person who loved him, for he could never return that emotion in the way it deserved to be reciprocated. A marriage of convenience, the only relationship they had with each other was a tense acquaintance, at best. _

_He is tired; it had been another long day at the courts, another long day of perching upon his throne in a room that was, for once, mercifully clear of Goblins as he listened to the daily grievances of his people. It would have been one thing if they were troubles that might actually matter, but when you rule a kingdom filled with simpletons, their problems are naturally tedious to listen to for hours on end. Occasionally, an elf or a fairy would come forward with a real problem that actually required him to use his brain, but such challenges were few and far in between, and most times he was stuck helping solve problems having to do with chickens or dirt or rocks. _

_Runners were less frequent nowadays, with belief in the old magic slipping away more and more with each passing year. Sooner or later, the Underground would be completely shut off from the Aboveground, since it was human belief in magic that kept the fabric of their realms from tearing apart. But runners still came, stretching across those threads to a different world. And they were all failures. Some didn't even make it past the first wall. Disappointing. Ever since she had left, the challenge had dissipated. And time passes differently in the Underground._

_What had been five years to Sarah Williams had been one hundred to the Goblin King._

_All he wants is to go to his room and sink into his bed and sleep, but when he opens the door, the Queen is there, and she is not alone. Rather, she is lying on her back, underneath the body of some lesser faerie noble or other. He, at least, has the shame to look disgraced when he realizes they have an audience. He meets the King's stunned eyes and drops his gaze quickly, making a fumbling excuse as he trips out of his room. The King lets him leave unscathed. _

_The Queen has no sense of shame like her illicit lover. She meets the King's cold gaze with an icy glare of her own, her chin uplifted in defiance. He has looked upon the expression with fondness many times before, but on her face, it disgusts him. He flings the door open and steps aside, inclined with his head towards the empty hall. The Queen rises and collects her chemise and gown that were so carelessly dropped on the floor, dresses, and leaves without sparing him a second glance. He knows that she will not come back._

_He can't bring himself to sit on the bed, so he leans against his desk instead. He was not surprised by her actions; it had been a hundred years, and she must have been growing tired of his indifference to her. But she should have exercised more caution. Her reputation would not have been the only one at stake if a servant had found them before he had. He flicks his wrist, and a pristine orb materializes in his hand. He needs to see Sarah, needs to feed off of her determination in order to keep his own life together._

_He does not see confidence. He sees a young woman at a cramped table, downing a bottle of wine alone. There are shadows under her eyes and slight wrinkles at the corners of her mouth, giving him the impression that she does more frowning these days than laughing. Dressed in an over-large t-shirt and sweatpants, she exudes weariness rather than invincibility. He sighs deeply at what she is doing to herself, and wishes that he was with her._

_And suddenly, he is._

* * *

Her nightgown has been pulled completely off of her body now, and she is totally bare underneath his predatory gaze. Though she has come a long way from that stammering first night, when he rakes his dark eyes over her body, lingering over certain parts, it never fails to make her squirm. He doesn't even have to touch her to make heat surge through her blood; one look is all it takes to unravel her from the inside out.

He kisses her mouth briefly before beginning a slow trail down her body. His hands occupy themselves elsewhere as his lips casually brush against one of her breasts. She shifts underneath him, tossing her hair out of her face so she can watch him through her half-closed eyes, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she struggles to bite back a moan. He smirks at her restraint and nips playfully at her breast, which coaxes a quiet gasp from her throat, just as he knew it would. One hand creeps up to her other breast, the thumb trailing lightly over her nipple while the other fingers dance lightly across the sensitive flesh. His left hand remains at the juncture of her thighs.

She moans as he skillfully manipulates her skin, all the different sensations causing her to grow hyper-sensitive wherever his body happens to touch hers. Finally, he seems content with the languid torture he has been wreaking on her left breast, and he switches to the other. Before his mouth can touch her heated skin again, however, she stops him with firm hands on his chest. He blinks down at her, bemused.

"I believe," she manages to say calmly, "that you are way too overdressed."

He looks down at where her hands are currently tangled in the folds of his poet's shirt and gives her a half-smile. "So I am," he responds, not bothering to mask the dark, husky voice that has taken the place of the usual smooth, melodic one as he begins to shrug gracefully out of his vest.

* * *

_He looks at her, and she at him. _

_His sudden appearance in her kitchen has surprised them both, and she leaps to her feet, placing the table between her body and his, though it is quite the fruitless maneuver; she seems to be forgetting that he is a magician. All it would take is a flick of the hand, and there would be nothing left to keep him from going to her._

_And he wants to go to her. A hundred years of waiting down in the Underground, trapped in a loveless marriage. He mentally thanks the former Goblin Queen for doing something so audacious; he is now rid of her, and it will be a while before the courts decide that he needs to take another wife. "A grieving period", they will call it. Ha. He just wants to be left alone. Either that, or be with someone he can actually see himself spending eternity with. In spite of himself, at this thought, his eyes meet with hers. _

"_What are you…doing here?" Her speech is slow and careful, as if she is trying to keep herself from slurring her words together._

_His eyes flick to the wine bottle, half-full on her table. "I could ask you the same thing."_

_She gets angry. "I live here! And you! …You're breaking and entering! That's…that's against the law!"_

_If he laughs at her, he knows that will only serve to make her more distressed, which is something he doesn't want. But he cannot help but throw one barb in her direction, if only to serve as a reminder to who she is talking to._

"_I'm a cheat. Don't you remember?"_

_One look at her furiously narrowed eyes tells him she remembers better than anyone. She remembers a clock appearing out of thin air as he turned time forward against her, laughing as he did so without a care in the world. She remembers the peach, and the weightless feeling she had after biting into it and waking up in a place that she had only dreamed of before. Her hands tighten on the back of the chair that she has place before her._

"_What are you doing here?" she asks again, though this time, her voice lacks the shock it had the first time she had spoken. Instead, it sounds more…tired. As if he can give whatever answer he likes and she will just nod her head. He doesn't like it. Where is her fire and her will? He decides that he doesn't like it at all, but does not pursue the issue. Not now, at least._

"_I don't know," he responds truthfully. He isn't about to tell her that he had been looking at her and thinking of her, but she is wiser this time around, and her eyes drift down to the crystal he holds in his hand. A hint of recognition passes over her face before she turns to face him again, tipping her head to the side. Such body language is almost endearing._

"_I wished you here, I think."_

_He stares at her, puzzlement spreading slowly over his face from the way his eyes widen to how his mouth falls open a fraction of an inch. She smiles slightly at his expression; he looks like such a little boy. The alcohol buzzing in her system nudges her into opening her mouth again, but her brain closes it, thus thwarting any attempt to embarrass herself due to being halfway wasted._

"_Why?" He finds his voice again, and he asks the question this time._

_She looks away, down at the table to where the wine still sits, and there's something else there, too. A few steps closer shows them to be a few pictures of her family and other women he doesn't know, presumably friends of hers, fanned out across the table. He gingerly plucks the top photo from the small stack. It's the boy, asleep in his crib, holding a stuffed animal that looks very much like one of those blasted creatures who helped Sarah through the Labyrinth. The date at the bottom corner of the photo shows it to be from four years previously._

"_Don't touch my things."_

_He looks up at her command to see that she hasn't moved from her spot, though her knuckles are turning white from gripping the chair so hard. Though her words were harsh, she said them half-heartedly, as if she was just trying to hold up the pretense that he was the villain, come to steal her away, and she had to play the part of the victorious heroine and save herself from his evil grasp._

_No. He will not be cast into that role again._

"_Why?" He repeats himself, more forcefully this time, leaning over the table with his gloved hands braced on the surface, should-width apart. This dominating display frightens her, and she shrinks back._

_Sarah, Sarah, where has your backbone run off to?_

"_I don't know," she mutters, and he frowns. Did that answer pertain to why she had wished him here, or had she somehow read the question in his mind? Either way, it's not the answer he's looking for. He leans closer, and she recoils again until her back is against the wall. Tsk, tsk, Sarah Williams, you picked a poor place to hide. It is rather hard to escape when you are backed into a corner._

"_Are you sure?" Shadowed green eyes dart up to meet his, but once he catches them, he does not let them go. He wants her to tell him the truth, even though he knows that in her mind, he's still the devious villain who does not deserve anything but lies. But he wants her to be honest. And to her surprise, she wants to be honest with him, too, and finds her mouth moving before she has time to filter what is coming out of it._

"_I'm lonely."_

_He leans back. He can sense the honesty in her words, and is just as surprised by her answer as he is that she decided to give one to him. Part of him preens; anyone in the world she could have called to sooth her isolation and she chose him. But another part of him thinks back to five minutes before, when he had been sitting in his chambers alone, stroking the surface of his crystal and thinking wishful thoughts as he saw her face in the palm of his hand._

"_I think…that I would not object to some company, myself."_

* * *

His skin is so hot against hers, it's almost uncomfortable. She has successfully persuaded him out of all of his clothes, though his boots did give both of them some trouble; such things are meant to be taken off slowly and carefully, not in a wild, sex-crazed frenzy. Unfortunately, that's how they both had approached the situation, and it was only when he gave up and swung his feet off the bed to unlace every time-consuming tie that they came off without a fight. He had thrown them across the room with particular venom before turning back to the object of his desires, who had watched the display with an air of suppressed amusement.

He glances at her as she covers her mouth with her hand to hide her smile, but he can feel her laughter shaking her body. The look he gives her is practically murderous; by all rights, she should have a hole burned into her head, his glare is so scorching. It only makes her laugh harder until her eyes begin to shine with unshed tears. He hates being laughed at, and he makes his irritation known when his hands descend on her hips with a vice-like grip. Her laughter dies down to hiccups as she gives him a watery smirk.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growls, tongue slipping out to moisten his lips. Her eyes widen, but before she can protest, he has already flipped her onto her stomach, one knee on each side of her waist and his hands heavy on her lower back. She fights back with spirit, playing along with his game of cat and mouse. He leans down until his lips are brushing against the shell of her ear, and she grows tame underneath the gentle touch.

"What I've done to you," he whispers softly, punctuation each word with a feather-light kiss, "And what I've been doing to you-" his hands trail lightly up and down her sides, the fingertips just barely touching her skin. She shivers in response, anticipation and excitement building up inside of her simultaneously, "is nothing compared to what I _will_ do to you."

She turns her head sideways away from the pillow so she can look into his eyes. Her own are sparkling with a clever mischief. "Nothing, nothing, tra la la?"

* * *

_She finds herself sharing the remainder of her wine with the King of the Labyrinth on the floor in her living room. He's telling her wound-up stories of his childhood and all the trouble he and his brothers used to cause for the staff and servants of their childhood home. She can tell from the way his eyes are hooded and by the way he easily smiles at her that he is not immune to the effects of wine, despite his immortality, and the thought of him buzzed makes her smile._

_This is crazy, her sitting on her floor, trading stories with the Goblin King. Not to mention dangerous. Though he may not have been the villain she painted him to be when she ran his challenge all those years ago, he is still calloused and cruel, and there was no telling what he might do to her should she say something that might annoy him. But the wine tells her otherwise, and soothes her frayed nerves. Not to mention she hasn't sat down like this and chatted for, well…ever, to be honest. She feels good._

"_So, today is your twenty-first birthday, then?" He asks, peering at her over the rim of his glass._

"_Mmhmm," is all she responds, because she knows that if she opens her mouth, something stupid will tumble out._

"_Curious," he mutters, swirling the remains of his wine. He frowns down at it, and she blinks. Is he going to choose to criticize her taste in wine now, and proclaim that he has had much better than such cheap material? Heat blossoms over her cheeks at the thought of being criticized, but she pushes that away._

"_What's curious?"_

_He turns his eyes to her and holds her in close regard, taking in everything. How she sits, the way the light from a hastily-lit candle plays across her face, how her eyes glitter at him in the half-dark, and how her dark brown hair tumbles down her shoulders and into her eyes. He wants her so badly it hurts to think about._

"_The twenty-first birthday is a milestone for most mortals, is it not?"_

"_Well, yeah." She indicates the now-empty bottle with a tip of her head. "Hence the wine."_

"_And yet you choose to spend it alone. Why not invite your family or friends?" On more than one occasion when she was younger, he had happened to look into her life through one of his crystals on her little brother's third birthday. The entire family was there, gathered around the little boy who could hardly talk, egging him on to make a wish. Even she had encouraged him, she who should know better now that she knew some wishes really did come true._

_She frowns at him and glances down at the floor. "My family would be ashamed to see me like this."_

_His draws his shoulders back in a haughty fashion and gives her a disapproving look. "I'm ashamed to see you like this."_

_The famous Sarah-temper flares, even if it's only for a brief moment. "I don't need your approval." But her voice is shaking, and they both hear it and know that it's not true. But her mouth is pressed in a thin line and her head is jerked up defiantly, and he knows better than to worry an obviously sore spot, even when intoxicated. So he bows his head diplomatically and side-steps the issue. For now._

_She is already sweeping on now, and he silently thanks the alcohol; if she were all sober, she would no doubt clam herself up in a stony silence at his questions. She rambles and he half-listens to what she says, not wanting to interrupt her if she says something particularly interesting._

"_-and besides, I don't think it's their company I need."_

"_Oh?" He pounces on the opportunity and stares at her with the intensity of an owl that has just trapped a mouse. "Then what do you need?"_

_She stares at him, her mouth part-way open. He can tell that she is thinking back to what she said and berating herself at being so flippant with her personal desires. Had he been a kinder being, he would have let it go, but he was not. Her cheeks are flushed, which gives her previously dull face a sort of wild life to it, and her eyes glitter at him, suddenly not as sunken in as they were before. She opens her mouth to speak, but words fail her and she shuts it again, giving him a quick look before looking away._

_The corners of his mouth curl. An answer in itself._

_Satisfied, he raises his glass and inclines his head towards her slightly. "Happy Birthday."_

_The glass in her hand rises up to touch with his, but because she is drunk, she accidently spills some wine out of the corners of her mouth when she goes to drink it. Her cheeks redden slightly with embarrassment as she reaches up to wipe it away with the back of her hand._

_But because he is halfway-drunk himself, he reaches up to cup the side of her face before her hand even makes it past shoulder-height. And before she can protest, he leans forward and presses his mouth to hers. She leans into it, all inhibitions cleared and forgotten, her hand going instead to his shoulder to steady herself. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her tight against his body. The action makes her moan into his mouth, and his tongue darts out to run along her bottom lip._

_She tastes like cheap wine and forbidden dreams._

* * *

Apparently, that last comment touched some nerves. But he never takes out his aggressions with her by being rough or violent. He's never done that. However, he has no qualms about torturing her with every skill and trick he has perfected in bed for the past however many centuries he's been alive.

His hands are magic, quite literally. She supposes it's the reason he always wears gloves, for everything he touches with his bare fingertips becomes instantly filled with potential magic if he so wishes it, or if he happens to lose control. This "massage" that he's giving her is intentionally spiked with his power, and all the warmth that seeps from his hands into her naked back eventually joins the pool of heat that swirls turbulently in her lower stomach.

They rub slow circles on her muscles, which turn to butter at his slightest touch. She strains weakly, defiantly, against him, but he has foreseen her restlessness and has already bound her hands above her head. She gives up and turns her face back into the pillow, her breast heaving against the sheets as the pillow muffles her strangled cries. This is the epitome of cruel and unusual punishment.

Slowly, he turns her onto her side and casually moves her arms out of the way as he runs his hand from her shoulder blade down to her hip, which already bears angry red welts from where he had gripped her earlier. They will be bruises by the time morning comes, but he will deal with that when it happens. He works over the stiff oblique muscles that are tight and tired like every other part of her body because she was on the patient floor all day at the hospital, on her feet for twelve straight hours. Accidentally, he hits a ticklish spot that makes her wriggle suddenly under his hands, and she twists her head to around to give him an "I-am-not-amused" sort of glare. He shrugs in return, which makes her roll her eyes in an exasperated manner. Smirking, he pinches her side again, this time allowing his magic to flow through his fingertips. The result is a harmless shock that, nonetheless, makes her jump out a foot off the bed.

"Not funny," she growls after she recovers, and she gives him a none-too-gentle nudge with her foot. He catches the offending appendage with a fast, firm hand, and tugs. She squeals, startled, as she winds up on her back again, dragged farther down the bed so her hips rest evenly underneath his. He pushes her thighs apart with his knees and settles himself directly over her, pausing briefly to gaze down upon her face, which has turned almost feral with emotion and desire. She meets his gaze with her wild green eyes, and the challenge in them is what makes him finally push himself into her.

"_Oh_…hands, please," she rasps, even as she rocks her hips up against his own. Her arms, due to her hands being bound to the headboard by his magic, are strained, trying to keep her in place when he has pulled her in the opposite direction.

"Are you in pain?" he volleys back patiently, reaching down with his hands to keep her hips in place.

"No, but-"

"Then I think not." He is already having enough trouble trying to control himself without her running her hands all over his body.

* * *

_They lay side-by-side on her bed, spent. When she had finally woken up just before sunrise, he had expected her to stumble from the bed in shock before hurling furious accusations his way. But instead, she had reached for him and latched her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. And he had rolled her underneath him and made love to her slowly as the room grew brighter with the rising sun._

_And now the sun is halfway to its peak in the sky. She lays facing him, her eyes half-closed as he holds her body close to his, drawing lazy shapes on her back. He doesn't understand; though she hadn't been completely drunk the previous night, she had still had enough to inhibit her decision-making skills. Where is the outrage? The accusations that he had taken advantage of her?_

_She feels his gaze and tips her head up to meet it with her own. Her lips are still swollen and bruised from his demanding kisses, but they are turned up at the corners in a small smile. "Yes?"_

_He stares at her, uncertain. Was this some kind of trick? "You're not angry." _

_She rolls onto her back and stretches like a cat; she doesn't even seem to care that her sheets have slipped and he has a full view of her chest. "Have I ever told you how good your observation skills are?" The Sarah-fire has returned overnight, apparently, if her teasing has anything to do with it. He snorts and gives her a playful poke in the ribs, amused when she spasms so violently she almost falls off the bed._

"_How graceful," he chides sarcastically. She ignores his comment, instead reaching out to touch his shoulder in a gentle way. He looks down at her to see that her eyes are searching his face, as if it will speak to her. She finally meets his eyes and cocks her head to one side._

"_Should I be angry?"_

"_I took advantage of you."_

"_I enjoyed it."_

"_I crashed your birthday."_

"_I suppose I can find some way to forgive you."_

"_You don't like me."_

_She frowns. "I don't know you." She only realizes how true it is after she speaks. She saw him a few times during her run in the Labyrinth, but she hadn't really had the time to stop and chat. The previous night (though some of it, she could admit, was rather hazy in her memory) had given her more insight into his personality than thirteen hours in the Labyrinth had. And there is still so much that she doesn't know about him._

_His eyes glitter with something akin to hope; at least she hasn't outright admitted to disliking him, always a fair start. He takes her face in his hands and starts to stroke her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. The action is soothing, and her eyes begin to drift shut on their own accord. But his next request makes them fly open in surprise._

"_Come back with me."_

_She knows he means for it to sound like an order, but the inflection on the last word makes it sound more like a question. She looks at him sadly, for he looks so expectant, as if he is sure she will not deny him. And she doesn't want to. She wants to go back with him. But she can't just let him into her life after a five-year absence (during which she still regarded him as an enemy) and allow him to steal her away to the Underground. Her hands rise up to hold his, where they are still resting on her cheeks as she opens her mouth to reject him in the gentlest way that she can think of._

_But her mouth is not cooperating with her brain. "One year," she blurts out._

_He looks confused. "One year for what?"_

_She considers telling him that she doesn't even know, but she rapidly improvises. "I don't know who you are, Goblin King." Her fingers stroke patterns up and down the back of his hand, and his eyes would have closed in contentment had he not been hanging on to her every word. "I won't let you take me somewhere when I don't even know if I can trust you or not. So," she forces her hands to still, "I want a year to get to know you better and see if you can meet my expectations."_

"_If you just come with me," he says testily, "we would have an eternity to get to know each other better." _

_She smiles at him, but shakes her head. "One year. Take it or leave it."_

_His eyes become narrow slits. "If I do meet you expectations, you will not lie to me."_

"_Why would I lie?" She extends a hand to him, which he takes firmly. His magic soars through his hand up into her fingers and palm, and then continues up her arm to circle around her chest before squeezing around her heart. The spell leaves her breathless and him smug. Instead of releasing her hand, he gives it a tug, pulling her up onto his lap so she is half-straddling him in his upright position. His arousal is evident against her thigh as he kisses her fully on the mouth. Her hands creep up to tangle themselves in his hair, but he pulls his head back to stare at her with his strangely glittering eyes._

"_A year will make no difference. You will be mine."_

* * *

His pace is maddening. He pushes her all the way out to the brink, and then stops completely, still half inside of her, to lean over her to kiss her and mutter words in her ear that she knows have meaning but she just can't string them together. Her legs wind around his lean waist tightly as she desperately holds him close to her body in an effort to keep him from pulling away. The new angle makes both of them hiss with pleasure, and he buries his face into the crook of her neck as he begins moving again, his moans muffled by her sweat-slicked skin. The side of his head winds up right next to her mouth, and she uses the opportunity to snarl in his ear between gasps.

"_Don't. Stop_."

He obliges for once, increasing his speed as he tangles his fingers in her dark hair. Had her own hands been free, she would have done the same thing. They are balled up so hard, her fingernails bite painfully into her palms, drawing small pinpricks of blood up to the surface of her skin. But neither of them notices this. The heat that has been coiled up like a spring all night in her stomach slowly unfurls and spreads throughout every inch of her body until it feels like she will spontaneously combust at any given minute. Each thrust is accompanied by a small cry of her own until words fail her and she arches her back and presses the entire length of her body up against his. When her voice finally achieves volume, it's his name that falls from her lips.

"_Jareth_."

As her muscles tighten around him, he can't control himself any longer, and with a quiet cry of his own, follows her over the edge, down into the welcoming abyss that rushes up eagerly to greet him. He collapses on top of her body, completely spent, panting raggedly in her ear. He doesn't notice her squirming underneath him in discomfort until she nudges him with her knee. He looks up at her with his hooded eyes and realizes from her strained expression and rasping breaths that he's crushing her. He rolls off of her body and onto his side, reaching up at the same time to free her hands with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Upon seeing her palms, he pulls them close to his face and showers gentle kisses against the broken, sore skin. Everywhere his lips touch, the scratches heal themselves until there is nothing left to suggest that they were there in the first place. She rolls her shoulders gratefully as he heals her hands, feeling the blood begin to circulate again underneath her skin. He runs his thumbs briefly along the lines in her palms before dropping her hands and rolling on his back, folding his arms behind his head. She rolls onto her side and drapes an arm lazily across his chest, closing her eyes as she does so.

"Have I met your expectations?"

She toys absentmindedly with a lock of his candyfloss hair that has fallen over his shoulder. "No."

Surprise and disbelief flare up in his chest, and he reaches through the link that he made when she promised him that she would be truthful. To his great disappointment, he can sense no dishonesty in her words. Exhaustion is quickly replaced by anger and hurt as he sits up quickly, giving her an accusatory glare. "Explain," he demands haughtily, taking on full Goblin King persona with his fierce demand.

Her cool gaze meets his steadily as she follows suit, pushing herself up to sit on her knees in front of him. There is a twinge of pain between her legs, but she ignores it easily. "You never actually clarified with me what my expectations were," she replies, and her voice is a calm foil to his agitation. "When I look for a potential-" –potential what? boyfriend? lover?- "-_partner_, he needs to have specific characteristics. He needs to be kind, compassionate, and fair. You have your moments, but you are mostly just a dominating, proud, over-confident King."

His shoulders slump uncharacteristically in defeat and he leans back against the wall, staring straight through her. It kills her to see him look so downcast because of her. "You could have told me."

"What, and have you lie to me about your personality? Act one way around me, and then when the year is up you can pull off the mask and show me who you really are?" She sniffs disdainfully. "I think not."

Silence stretches out between them.

"So you will not have me?"

"Did I say that?"

"No, but-"

A finger falls on his lips that are still pleasantly swollen from their activities. "Don't put words in my mouth, my dear. Let me talk."

He ignores her request and removes her hand from its close proximity to his face irritably. "I tire of this game, Sarah," he declares angrily. "I did not meet what you expected of me. I lost. _Again_." He spits out the last word with enough bitterness to make her wince. The pressure he puts on her smaller hand bothers her, and she pulls it out of his grasp when he reluctantly lets it go.

"Yes, that was the deal. At first." Her hand is suddenly tight and sore, a result of his agitated magic spiking through her skin where he grasped it, and her other hand moves to cradle it in her lap. He sees what he has done, and though he is still frustrated and hurt, he feels guilt joining the other turbulent emotions. He wants to reach out to sooth her pain, but his selfish, wounded pride keeps his hands firmly at his sides. Her words catch his attention, and he tips his head inquisitively to the side.

At that look, she smiles softly. "So you're not exactly the finest male specimen I've ever seen." He looks annoyed at being described as some kind of experiment and her smiles grows wider. "And you're definitely not some gallant white knight in shining armor. I always thought that was something akin to what I wanted." Okay, so that was a bit of fudgery right there; Jareth had been on her mind for about a year before he turned up in her kitchen that night, but she had never been sure if it was love or just some infatuation all the good girls have for the bad boys. But she wasn't about to tell him that.

Silence. She wonders if this is too much for him to process. "Maybe…maybe I don't need a white night." She daringly reaches out for him, and this time, he doesn't halt her advances when she places her hands hesitantly on his hips and scoots across the covers until her knees are brushing his own. "Maybe I'm glad you didn't meet my expectations." His eyes widen at her declaration.

When his arms go around her waist, she knows that even though all is not forgiven, he is at least willing to accept her closeness once again, and relaxes. She supposes she could have been less dramatic in the beginning; she knew he would remember their deal made a year previously, and had been planning her little speech for about a fortnight, knowing that it would probably give him a heart attack. She ducks her head and smirks behind her hair; though she feels guilty, there's also a satisfaction there for having knocked him off his high horse.

"You deliberately misled me," he mutters, his face only a few inches away from her own. Though the anger has begun to seep out of his voice, she sneaks a glance at his face and recognizes the wounded look in his eyes, and her guilt automatically triples. She keeps her head low, but his hand sneaks under her chin and forces her to look up. "Perhaps the reason why you don't want a valiant knight lies in the fact that you are not a sweet little princess yourself."

Wincing, she accepts the barb as payback for her earlier words and instead of rising on the offensive, offers him a small smile. "We just bring out the best in each other, don't we?"

He snorts. "Indeed." He does not smile back at her, not willing to forgive her so easily, but she can hear the warmth in his tone. He suddenly picks up the hand he accidentally hurt in one of his hands, and strokes it soothingly with the other. The discomfort fades immediately, and she squeezes his hand gently in thanks, while the fingers on _her_ other hand begin to trace small patterns low on his hip, her thumb skimming over the skin below his navel. He moans softly and stops her, catching her wrist with a firm grip before she can continue.

"I want an answer," he manages to grind out. "Will you come with me?"

"Go where?" She asks breathlessly.

"Anywhere. Everywhere. We _do_ have all eternity. Though, of course, most of that time would be spent in the Labyrinth and – _do I have to bind your hands again?_" He looks mockingly scandalized; her other hand had removed itself from his hold to trail down his chest.

She gives him a sheepish look. "You got to have your way already. It's _my_ birthday, so I should get to do what _I_ want."

"But first, an answer."

Her head tips to the side as she deliberates. "You know, we didn't make that deal until the morning after my birthday, so I suppose technically I don't really have to give you any answer for, oh," she glances at the digital clock on the bedside table, "another ten hours or so."

"But you already know what you're going to say."

"Mmmm…yes, I would say that I do."

"Tease."

"Aristocratic big-head," she fires back playfully, and with a light shove, pushes him onto his side. He rolls over onto his back as she leans over him, placing her hands on his shoulders to balance herself. "But if it really does bother you, I suppose I could tell you a day early."

One of his eyebrows quirks up into his hairline. "It really bothers me." In reality, he is quite sure what her answer will be, but he wants to hear it come from her own mouth.

A light laugh passes through her lips as she straddles him, gently stroking his face. "Of course I will go with you. Anywhere and everywhere, Above or Below." His eyes light up at her easy confession, and he moves as if to sit up, but she pushes him back down stubbornly. "I gave you your damn answer. Now, we're going to play this game by _my_ rules."

"You should know I don't play games by anyone's terms but my own."

"Humor me, my King."

Darkness passes over his face, and the look of pure lust he throws at her sends fire rushing through her veins. "Very well, my Queen."

She shivers, but leans forward to place a kiss on the pulse of his throat. To her surprise, it's beating a million miles a minute. She smiles against his skin at how his body betrays him, and her fingers move to dance lightly over his skin. That elicits a groan from his mouth, much to her satisfaction, and she begins to pepper kisses along his collarbone, all the while touching him in the various places where her hands can reach. Before he loses himself to her ministrations, he bows his head so his mouth is touching her ear.

"Happy birthday, Sarah."

* * *

**What can I say? I was in a smut-ish mood. Hopefully I don't get kicked off of the site.**

**I think I may have abused the pronouns a bit, but I wanted to draw attention to their names whenever they were actually said. **

**Review, please? As this is a one-shot, I can't use the excuse that reviews will give me muse, but feedback is always very much appreciated.**


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